


Lead Me Not

by erasergremlin



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pavus Backstory spoilers, Sexcapades in the Fade™, Sexual Tension, a fair amount of internal monologuing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 07:01:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8134654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erasergremlin/pseuds/erasergremlin
Summary: “The only way to be rid of temptation is to yield to it.”Desire is there. Desire is always there. And every time Dorian denies him, it gets more difficult than the time before.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LovelyGhost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyGhost/gifts).



> Firstly, a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the Black Emporium for putting together this exchange, and also a huge thank you to my very first betas ever you guys are awesome. This was so fun.
> 
> For LovelyGhost, I hope you enjoy your gift!

A restless boy wanders the Fade, young and distracted with thoughts running rampant through his head.

The other boys make fun of him. They call him soft, and he shows them every sharp edge. They call him weak, and he leaves them bleeding. They call him stupid, and he shows them the cost of their underestimation. But he left a boy in such a state that a senior enchanter became involved, and his father is angry.

No. Angry doesn’t begin to cover it. Dorian is going to be taken away. To another school, probably, and hopefully a better one, and perhaps there, he will not be soft. He will not be weak. He will not be stupid. Because his eyes linger on the other boys, and as soon as they notice, that’s all he is.

He isn’t the only one with these urges. He’s simply the only one careless enough to chase the want budding in his chest.

His father would never approve; never allow it. He’s heard quiet conversations from the study when he should be asleep; of the girl he should marry, has to marry, and the more he hears, the more he wants nothing to do with any of it. So he wanders the Fade, kicking at rocks that don’t exist and daring demons to make fun of him like the boys at school.

When it’s his father who finds him instead, at first, he is terrified. But Halward smiles, when his father never smiles, and he opens his arms, and for a flicker of a moment, Dorian sees sharp yellow eyes and horns wreathed in flame. His father’s mouth moves, but his voice feels wrong. His father tells Dorian he knows everything; that he likes the other boys, and more than he should - but there is nothing to fear; he loves him, and there is nothing Dorian could ever do that would change that.

Desire swears, in his father’s voice, that he will always be proud of him.

Dorian’s heart is in his throat, but he does not give in.

 

✵✵✵

 

The sky was the color of night, swallowed by ink. The stars, if they were indeed stars at all, were in all the wrong places, twinkling too brightly, too far away. Some moved, grew brighter, blinked and never returned.

Dorian had spent days and months and years lost to the dark beyond of the Fade. His youth had not been kind. School had never been a refuge, even from his parents and their incessant needling about what he was to do with his life. He showed promise. He had such power. Such potential. He had a _match_ , a wife that other young men his age would kill for.

They could have her, for all he cared.

In the Fade, there was none of that.

There was the vast, endless black sky, and an ever-changing landscape, riddled with odd fragments of memories from every corner of the waking world. And, of course, there was Desire. The demon was there - he always seemed to be there - and his voice had not become something to fear, but rather more like a balm over the years in dreaming moments. Something sweet and familiar when his waking world was fraught with so much isolation.

He’d lost count of the nights spent in the demon’s company. He would smile at Desire’s honeyed voice, all confidence and easy charm. Grinning at promises, keeping his lips sealed with sweet smiles when offered, asked, _pleaded_ with for _just a taste_ of the other side.

To give in would be to become an abomination. He knew that, the demon _knew_ he knew that, but it was in his nature all the same to ask, and Dorian could scarcely blame him for remaining true to his nature. Not when, as the years went by, Dorian wanted just the same for himself.

It left him knowing what to expect from the demon, and that only made him more comfortable in his company.

“Enjoying yourself?” A voice drifted down towards him, deep and rich, almost as sensual as the thumb that lingered against his lip. Dorian allowed his lips to curl upward, and pulled his eyes from the depths of the Fade to the demon’s face, handsome despite the angle, whose lap in which his own head was currently residing.

He found himself allowing a certain indulgence from himself in the Fade, knowing his own limits. His head rested in that muscular lap, admiring slender, violet fingers as they plucked at grapes that Dorian was sure he could taste, even if they would never satisfy any sort of real hunger. Dark, manicured brows lifted curiously, and Dorian chuckled.

He knew even this form was never truly the demon’s own, older and wiser than when they’d first met. Of course, that did not mean he couldn’t appreciate the effort that he went through to look pleasing. “Well enough,” he smiled, and Desire’s look softened just a touch, just for him. Dorian’s heart fluttered, and he tamped it down. That was the demon’s game. Dorian would not lose. “The grapes could do with some peeling, though.”

He relished in the demon’s laugh, if only for a moment.

Sharp nails lingered again against his lips after the mage took another grape between his teeth, knuckles tracing against the warmth of his skin. Dorian allowed it, in the way he rarely could while he was awake, and while it was an allowance of sorts, a closeness, it was not possession. Desire knew it as well as he did. Not that the demon had given up trying.

His tongue brushed the pad of Desire’s thumb at the next bit of fruit, and the demon paused, eyes flicking to Dorian’s own. He felt the push of power, the check to see if his guard was down, and with a smile, Dorian pushed right back, his own brow twitching up in amusement.

“Such a tease,” Desire said softly, and if Dorian squinted, he could pretend it was laced with affection. Then again, it might have been - he doubted most mages even bothered to humor the demons they encountered here. It would explain why this one kept coming back to _him_ , night after night, for nearly as long as he could remember.

“I do rather enjoy playing hard to get.” Dorian quipped, smile sharp and just as playful as the demon’s responding grin.

“And will you always be playing, dear heart?” Desire purred, and Dorian swallowed, the answer sticking to his tongue like the bittersweet tang of the fruit he’d been served.

The pet names nearly always caught him off guard. “That depends,” he managed after another gulp. His pause had the demon lifting his brows, intrigued. Shifting to curl a little better over him, Desire hummed, curious fingers tracing the line of Dorian’s throat at the prospect of him giving in to the game one day.

“On?” Desire whispered, and Dorian focused on the teeth behind his smile while fingers trailed down and across his collarbone. He had to inhale before he could answer, but did not turn his eyes away.

“On whether or not you start to bore me.”

The challenge was met with another sharp stare and a surprised chuckle. “Is that so?” Desire laughed, and Dorian licked his lips, determined. With a smile, the demon stretched out, leaving Dorian with a wicked view of tempting skin, stretched out over muscle that Dorian dreamt, sometimes, when he was awake and it was safer, that he might run his tongue along every inch. Desire chuckled, as if he could read the thought, and leaned his weight to one side, finger slipping further still to catch on the collar of Dorian’s robes. “I suppose I’d better keep it interesting, then...”

Dorian’s breath caught in his throat, and his heart skipped, pulse thrumming a little faster in his veins. “I suppose you should,” he hummed, voice tight, and Desire let out a long, pleased noise.

Desire’s hands grew bolder, slipping downward while lips took their place against Dorian’s skin, and the mage allowed it, his breath coming out in a sharp gust. This was easier, he thought, than hiding in dark corners with other young men who would make a point to forget his name and touch. Fingers that were too warm wormed their way into his clothes, and Dorian tipped his head up with a noise from between his teeth as they found their prize. The platter of clustered grapes clattered to the ground, ignored in favor of the demon’s mouth against his flesh, the hand wrapped around him, working him toward climax. Dorian rode the wave of pleasure like a man on a raft in a turbulent sea, arching into the demon’s touch with a rougher abandon than with his indiscriminate partners in waking moments. There, it was always a rush to get off and slink away under the cover of darkness, played off later as a phase or an easy lay. The Fade was a distraction, surely, but one that he’d never had to feel _guilty_ about.

This was different, with Desire’s lips against his temple, his name whispered in a dozen voices against his skin. Between teasing kisses, picking up on his wandering thoughts, Desire whispered promises of love, satisfaction, of a life where they would be together until the end of their days.

Dorian could do little but close his eyes and keep himself from imagining it. For now, he would only take what the demon offered freely. Which, in fact, was turning out to be more than Dorian had even expected. Desire’s fingers were quick and nimble, squeezing just within the right quarter-second, thumb gliding over the head while Dorian bit back a half-dozen embarrassing sounds.

His fingers itched to reach for the demon in turn, but fear held his arms fast to his sides, even as he spread his legs, planted his feet, and rolled his hips in time. His fingers bunched in his own robes, and for half a breath, he forgot that this was only another dream. Another pull of the demon’s power was enough to grab his attention. Panic gripped at him in a rush, tearing him back into his right mind, and he bit his lip, concentrating not to lose himself.

It was almost too much. He could feel it, the tug of the demon’s power, pulling at his own through every touch, and he hung on desperately as the waves crested in a white-hot pressure behind his eyelids. Desire swore, in a lover’s voice, that his love would be eternal.

Dorian’s body shuddered in completion, but he did not give in.

 

✵✵✵

 

Devastated, Dorian collapsed to his knees, the air in his lungs thick and cloying like a scream taking root, festering in his throat with brambles and wire. His arm burned with the trenches dug into his skin, even here, where the sky was never the right color, where every shadow was a sickness, whispering things they thought he wanted to hear.

A demon had taken his father’s voice, brimming with apologies and oaths of paternal love. Another, his mother, crying while he could feel the ghost of her fingers combing through his hair. More clever than the rest, one had taken Rilienus’ face, endearments dripping from his lips like honey while he begged Dorian to come with him, to run away from it all.

His family had turned their backs on him a long time ago, but he never thought - never expected the _betrayal_ his father had inflicted on him, kicking and screaming while a spell was carved into his arm. He had run, _of course he had run_ , and exhaustion had finally taken hold, leaving him trapped and surrounded in the Fade with too many chaotic emotions like glittering lures, taunting every demon that set their sights on him.

The rage boiling inside and demanding him to take a stand.

The fear begging him to run far, far away.

The despair hissing that he would never be free.

A thousand voices beat against the insides of his skull, and it was too much. He was still reeling, exhausted, _angry_ to the point where he wanted to scream out _yes_ to every single promise, every doubt. So he fought the scream that was trying to claw its way out instead, and let it tear apart his own insides while he fought desperately to keep his head in check. He couldn’t let this be how it ended. He couldn’t fall prey to weakness _now,_ when he’d spent his whole life coming so _far_.

It took him some time to notice when it had all stopped. The whispers had fallen silent. Even the air was still, no breath of wind to whisper through the void. Slowly, Dorian raised his head, and familiar golden eyes matched his own in the quiet. The demon stood in as blatant a form as Dorian could imagine, skin a lustrous violet, fire and horns cresting his skull, every sinuous, casual movement screaming _Desire_. It was the most familiar form, but certainly wasn’t the one Dorian was expecting, with his emotions running as high as they were. He expected an imitation of his father, with sorry eyes and reaching arms. His mother, to pull him close and sing his worries away. Or even tanned skin, fine cheekbones, and a smile he could never deny.

Bitterness struck him like a lash, lancing pain though his entire body and rolling his tongue into venomous motion.

“What, no new skin?” he spat, and the demon did not flinch. Thick arms crossed in front of the demon's chest, but not in a way that closed him off. Nonchalant. Comfortable. Patient. It only made Dorian more vicious. “No new attempts with which to seduce me into temptation?”

“This is what you wanted,” Desire stated, as though Dorian’s thoughts had been shouted out loud.

To the demon, perhaps they had. Were doing so still.

Desire unfolded his arms, and spread them across the vast nothing that surrounded them. No twisted spires of rock, or fragments of cities suspended in the distance. No more whispers on the wind, calling him to other places, to other domains in which their hosts were strongest. Even the sky, usually glimmering with far away light, had fallen completely dark. “No more clutter. No more costumes. No more games,” it said, tone soft enough that it had Dorian’s guard dropping, his breath catching in his throat. “Simply you, and I, with no falseness behind it.”

The games, he was used to. Dishonest smiles, underhanded compliments. _Truth, though.._.

“There is nothing true about you,” he refused, and the slow, sinking tilt of Desire’s head was very close to disappointed. “Every _notion_ about you is false.”

Desire let out a breath, and fire wrapped lazily around his horns as he tilted his head. “Come now, Dorian... Have I ever actually _lied_ to you?”

Mouth opening to let loose a sharp retort, Dorian found it freezing on his tongue. He could argue that _yes_ , the demon’s false promises were lies of their own; but to a spirit who knew little of the real world in the first place, an illusion in the Fade was closer to reality than it had ever known. Not that the demon was entirely innocent. Underhanded, yes. Misleading, absolutely. But the more Dorian thought of it, the more he came to realize that the demon had given up trying to _trick_ him a long time ago. His jaw shook with the effort, but the mage shook his head, and the way Desire hummed in approval left Dorian’s throat dry. “Not that it means anything. I'm not giving in to you.”

“And I am not surprised,” the demon answered, a smile lilting at his lips. Lowering his arms, he stepped forward, closer, and Dorian refused to flinch or retreat. “What a waste that would have been,” Desire whispered, as yellow eyes fell on the spellwork dripping down his wrist. Without a word, long fingers reached for Dorian’s arm, and perhaps it was curiosity that held Dorian still or some power of the demon’s own, but Desire swept his hand another time over his skin. Dorian’s pain fled, the wound stitching itself shut; at least, the illusion of such here while he slept. Dorian stared, and the demon smiled when he looked up in question. “Mages are not the only ones who shape the Fade, dear heart. You are simply the only gateways we have. Or, at least... The easiest ones.”

“You haven't got me yet,” Dorian hissed, and one dark brow lifted on Desire’s forehead towards him with another small smile that had his pulse stuttering.

“Don't I? Is there no one who knows you better than I do? Who loves you as much as I do?”

Dorian’s heart gave a hiccup, and he steeled himself. “It is not love.”

Teeth, this time, with Desire’s smirk. “Isn't it?”

Dorian shook his head, and tore his eyes away. His arm ached, despite the illusion of wholeness, and he couldn’t will it away. Nor could he will away the clenching in his chest at a word like _love_. “Sounds more like obsession,” he ground out, and the demon’s soft laugh had him glancing back.

“Oh, but I _am._ ” Desire chuckled, cheeks pulled into a lofty grin. He tipped his head back at Dorian’s sharp attention to the admission, and purred with a deep inhale, running his palms over his own skin. Dorian watched the descent of his hand, fluid, languid, unashamed in Dorian’s watching. Distracted. Distracting. The demon crouched before him, and Dorian swallowed, but did not - _could not_ look away. “I am obsessed with you. You shine like a star amongst grains of sand. You are _perfect_ , just as you are.”

Just as he was.

The phantom ache in his arm gave another throb.

It was another act, Dorian decided, a ploy to catch his attention and hold it, to weaken his resolve. With the memory of his father's scheme fresh in his mind, though, leaving him desperate to feel _anything_ besides this hurt, he could not say that Desire’s intent was not working. His words were too much a comfort for Dorian to want to turn them away - a distraction that he didn’t _want_ to deny. The demon slid into his space, and Dorian let him, inhaling, eyes locked on Desire as the spirit hovered over him.

“Let me take your mind off of this, my love,” the demon whispered, the word, the _one word_ that Dorian wanted to hear the most in his waking moments. Violet fingers lifted, gentle enough to tickle as he brushed stray hair behind the mage’s ear. Eyes of molten gold were caught in Dorian’s own. “It pains me to see you like this. Dim and hurting, my favorite flame nearly snuffed out.”

Dorian trembled, and could not find his voice.

“All you have to do is let me in,” he said, and Dorian swallowed, while Desire stood again and extended his hand. Dorian remained on his knees, and did not reach for him. “I will never betray you. We can take on the world together. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

He could barely hear the dark offer in that voice for the assurance that it brought with it, loud in his ears in the quiet. It was such a sweet promise that Dorian’s fingers trembled in simultaneous fear and elation at the concept. He wanted to believe it.

He _wanted_ it like nothing else.

The way in which Desire was promising, in his own voice, that Dorian did not have to face this alone...

Heaving, faltering, his eyes lingered on Desire’s extended hand. It took a great deal more effort to shut his eyes, and _force_ himself to _wake up._

 

✵✵✵

 

Lucid sleep came rarely, it seemed, when he was drunk out of his gourd. He’d gotten _very_ good at running away. From his family. From his responsibilities. Even from the Fade itself and the demon that plagued his thoughts with more and more frequency the further into hedonism he dove into.

Once, he might never have admitted that he liked chasing what the demon had made him feel. Made him _want_.

Now, he could scarcely come up for air.

“You're back,” Desire whispered, as though he might have been surprised. Dorian wanted it to be so. The demon sat against a throne of black brambles, creeping upward out of the ground like something out of a grim folk tale. It only served to make the demon look brighter against the dimness of his own world. “Thinking of me often?”

Dorian didn't answer, but at Desire’s smile, he didn't have to. The demon rose, his chair wisping into black smoke along with the world around them, leaving everything bare. Without grandeur.

Simple.

True.

Dorian’s heart skipped at the statement, the reminder of it all, and he curled shaking fingers into fists.

“I thought you didn’t _want_ to surround yourself with... _distractions_ ,” Desire said behind a coy smile. At once, Dorian knew the demon was not only talking about this false world beyond the veil. His own waking moments were spent in the beds of brothels, drinking and fucking away whatever money he could find, doing everything he possibly could to lead his father on a wild goose chase, distraught, disgraced, and penniless.

He’d been doing well so far.

“Was I not distracting enough?” Desire mused, and Dorian clenched his teeth.

“I do not need you,” he said, and tried not to think of how long it had taken to work up the nerve to say so.

“You never have.” The demon sounded amused, sharp eyes flicking to every distracted twitch of the mage’s body. Feet barely skimming the blackened plane they stood on, Desire moved closer. “But do you want me?”

Dorian swallowed and emptied his thoughts before they could scream _yes_.

His own daydreams flashed behind his eyelids. Dark thighs with his head buried between them, cock prodding at the back of his throat while Dorian tried to remember what Desire sounded like, husky and close. Warm flesh under his teeth, choking out mindless sounds of pleasure while he rode a dick as fat as he liked, imagining what it would feel like to have the demon’s palms gripping at his ass.

The demon reached, and when Dorian went to move back, the landscape changed, bursting into color and light, the sounds of birds calling in treetops while he tumbled backwards onto a divan that had not been there a moment ago. He landed with a thump against a cushion softer than it had any right to be considering it didn’t exist, and the demon came closer still.

Fingers slid over the expanse of his chest that his robes left open, starting from his navel and upward, nails catching lightly against a nipple on their journey. Desire sighed while the mage hissed in softly, his pulse racing through his ears and his heart trying to leap out of his ribcage. Maybe it was Desire’s effect on a human. Maybe it was just Dorian, and that want that he’d never stopped chasing.

It would be so easy, his mind supplied, and his heart, his entire being begged wholeheartedly for him to give in. The entire cold, intoxicating feel of it was terrifying.

Wasn’t there easier prey for this demon? Why had he haunted him, all these years? Why had he returned to willingly seek him out? He knew the answers to these things, but it was difficult to admit that he wanted to be wanted, loved, _remembered_ , and the only thing to show him these things unconditionally so far in his life was this horned nightmare.

The words almost escaped him, and Dorian let out a tiny, strangled sound as he caught them behind his lips. Full, dark lips pulled into a smile, and brighter eyes narrowed in near victory.

 _Almost_ unconditionally.

One word, one allowance, and he could have this forever. It could be that easy, that simple.

Dorian shut his eyes instead. Silence rushed into his ears, and when Dorian looked, the bright, manicured garden was gone. Desire remained, once again a bright, tempting silhouette against a too-black sky.

"You will give in one day, dear heart." The demon said softly, sidling up and onto the mage’s sprawled lap, his skin near blistering for the heat it gave off. His hands never left Dorian’s skin, palms flattening to sweep over the curves of his shoulders and ease the fabric out of the way, leaning in close enough that Dorian felt the wash of his warm breath. His own breath hitched, and he shut his eyes, the fear of giving in pitted deep in his chest, all too real. Desire sat up again, his weight settling over Dorian’s hips, and the shape he took - _his own,_ as well as it could be, the costumes gone, the game set aside, with nothing but a smile on his lips and fingers against his skin - was all too inviting. Dorian clenched his jaw, and wrapped his fingers into fists to keep from reaching for him.

"That may be," he started in a low whisper, "but today is not that day."

Desire’s smile did not waver. “I am patient,” He said, slender fingers wandering down again over Dorian’s naked skin. “I will wait.”

“Keep waiting,” Dorian whispered, and licked his lips to the responding hum, low and soft and halfway amused. The sound sparked a familiar sort of comfort, bringing to mind memories of simpler nights than this one, where he might not see the scars now - but when he woke up, the mark of his family’s betrayal would still be there, would be for the rest of his life. How much he would like to return to those times, where the Fade was a distraction and not a desperate escape. When he did not dread waking.

When he did not stop to seriously _consider_ a demon’s promise.

“You need not fear me, Dorian,” the demon insisted softly, fingers cupping around Dorian’s chin delicately. “You are precious. You are _loved_.”

A sharp inhale, and Dorian’s fingers flew into motion to grasp at Desire’s wrists, holding his breath until his lungs were screaming while the demon’s thumb gently stroked his chin.

Words he’d never wanted to hear more, and they were coming out of this demon in humanoid form, plying him into selling his soul for a better taste of it. He knew what Desire wanted, he knew what he might turn into if he allowed it, and yet... The demon was waiting, stroking the line of Dorian’s jaw, nothing but soft adoration in his eyes. “It is not love,” he insisted, if only for his own benefit, to try and convince himself, and Desire exhaled, sweeping his thumbs across the mage’s cheeks.

“Shall I show you?” Desire said, and Dorian’s breath caught in his throat at the question, left staring while the demon examined the twitch of expression across his face. His own grip loosened, his head dipping in a nod before he could catch himself, and the demon took its chance, fingers curling behind Dorian’s skull to tug him up and closer, sealing his fate with lips against his own.

There was a consuming heat to the demon’s kiss, and while his ears were certainly accustomed to hearing Desire’s every whispered promise, it was another entirely to feel it against his skin, every sweet nothing that had ever passed the demon’s lips colliding against him like a tidal wave, leaving him clamouring for... for his raft. For the depths.

For _more_.

The heat spread like a wildfire.

It was too late to deny that he and the demon were anything but intrinsically bound. The thought of the demon - the growing temptation to give in - left him lying awake most nights, but here he was, staring it in the face with nothing but lust and need in the back of his throat, desperate for every whispered promise and knowing that Desire would deliver on each and every one, even if it killed Dorian in the process.

“I want you,” Desire breathed against his jaw as they came apart, and Dorian couldn’t contain the short groan the statement pulled from his lungs, pushing his body upward, _closer_ , biting his tongue. The body above his was so warm, so welcoming. His chuckle was a melody in Dorian’s ears, his voice a sweet caress. "I _need_ you. We could be together forever, Dorian. You only have to allow it."

Dorian’s voice was clay, stuck in the back of his throat. His heart hammered wildly, and the press of Desire’s body against his own left him gasping for air, hands clamoring for the demon’s skin. _Yes,_ he tried desperately not to think aloud. _Yes_ . Years had lead him here, to this moment, where he found completion in another. His head was foggy. The little detail in which this _other_ was a demon out for every fibre of his being mattered less and less, with every press of lips against his throat.

But the more reasonable corner of his brain insisted that _yes_ , it mattered very much.

“Not...” he ground out, the words gummy and lodged against the back of his teeth, and he groaned openly to nails biting into his skin, not raking through flesh but adding pressure to the point of pleasure-pain. He ground his hips upward, and hissed out a curse to the hard column of flesh that pressed against his own, sending another hot wash of breath against his skin before the mage remembered what he’d been trying to say. “...Yet.” He gasped to the tickle of Desire’s nails against his skin, and clenched his jaw to gather his head. It was easier when for a merciful few seconds, the demon fell still. Dorian inhaled, and pressed his hands over too-warm ribs, imagining he felt blood pumping underneath. “Tempting as you may be, I’m still not - _keen_ on possession.”

He felt the ribs under his fingers expand in a deep breath. “Fine,” the demon allowed, and Dorian dropped his head back to the pinch of teeth against his collarbone. “A compromise, then, my love. A promise: No possession. No commitments. No minced words.” His voice lowered, tongue darting against his lips. Dorian exhaled, listening. When it was obvious the demon had his attention, Desire slid against him, and let out a short sound against his jaw. “Let me give myself to you. This body, however you would have it. Let me _show you_ everything I've been offering, all this time. Waiting for you has been... _excruciating_ . _”_

Dorian lost his breath, and stared. His thoughts desperately wheeled, fogged by the body pressing in so close against his own, but trying nevertheless to wrap his head around _what_ exactly the demon was asking of him. Desire sighed, impatiently, and shifted his body again, grinding against the mage and whispering a groan into his ear. Finding control over his own fingers, Dorian’s hands sped to the demon’s hips, and yet instead of trying to hold them still, he found himself gripping into pliant, warm flesh, rolling his own hips up just as eagerly.

Had he... _wanted_ this? Undoubtedly, but for _how long_?

“Show me,” he whispered, and Desire let out a long, grateful noise against his skin. Fingers fell to the fastenings of his clothes, working each open with an efficiency that warranted a small, impressed breath.

He watched while Desire took in his bared skin with greedy eyes, and rubbed his thumbs into the demon’s hips, swallowing and shifting against the cushion under him. Desire hiked his knees higher, sitting up, and Dorian let out a short, surprised noise to the hand suddenly circling his erection, warm and slick with oil. He twitched, hissing, and the demon hummed with a soft laugh, hand slipping easily over his dick as Dorian grunted, lips splitting in amusement.

“When did you even--”

“Shhh,” the demon sighed, tongue darting out against dark lips before pressing them lightly to Dorian’s own. Dorian sucked in a breath, hips twitching, and while the demon rose up on his knees, he found his breath stalling out in his throat. Sure enough, the demon must have sprouted arms while he wasn't looking, or he would have to seriously consider this more often, as Desire rolled his hips over Dorian’s cock, slick and hot around him. .

Oiled and eager, and Dorian had barely even had a chance to blink. An illusion, probably, but it was easy enough to pretend or even reason that a spirit could manipulate whatever constituted for time, on a plane in which entire broken cities could vanish with a thought.

The noise that escaped him was almost spoiled. “You know... I _like_ watching men prepare themselves for me. I even like participating, given the chance.”

“A note to make for next time,” Desire returned, and Dorian lost his witty response with a sharp breath as the demon took him in hand again. His grip was sure, confident that there would be a next time, and with the way his grip twisted a fraction, spreading the oil over his own skin, Dorian had to bite his tongue to keep from grinning. It helped to ground him, and remind him not to say anything stupid. More stupid, of course, than groaning and hissing out a muffled encouragement as Desire took him in by fractions of inches, sharp golden eyes watching every flicker of expression cross his face.

Ever searching, no doubt, for the shade of weakness. Even a half second, that one moment  in which Dorian would give him _everything_.

The demon lowered his hips, engulfing Dorian in heat he would have thought unbearable were there not the lingering burn of Desire’s lips on his skin. Dorian grunted, and tried to remain still. A thousand curses sprung to his lips, but none of them made it farther than that before  Desire sank onto his cock again, clenching around him as though he’d never again be free.

“ _Kaffas,”_ he hissed, and Desire hummed, arching his spine to give Dorian a show, encouraging the hands that remained on his hips to grip and guide him. Dorian closed his eyes only for a breath, finding he didn't want to miss a moment.

The demon’s erection hung heavily over Dorian's stomach, eager and inviting, and with a lick of his lips, he moved a hand to close around it, breathing in the moan that seemed to fill the very air with warmth. It was a sharp reminder that this was not just another man he had the pleasure of fooling around with; this was a creature made  of power. Of _hunger_ , and he wanted Dorian, _unconditionally_ , at least for tonight.

Maker help him, how Dorian had _wanted this_ for so long, somewhere deep and desperate, where he could not root it out.

In a moment of boldness - his pulse racing, his breath burning in his lungs, Dorian gripped Desire by the hips and rolled them both, driving into him with a desperate abandon, treasuring the sharp change in the demon’s hitching breaths with every thrust and shift in angle.

It was better than Dorian had ever had. The thighs eagerly pressing against his ribs. The nails digging suddenly into the back of his shoulders. “ _Dorian_ ,” the demon gasped, and Dorian recognized the blanket of Rilienus’ voice overlayed over Desire’s own.

“ _Just you_ ,” he growled suddenly, surprising even himself. A harsher thrust, and the demon hitched out a sharp moan. “Just you,” he whispered, “and me. No more costumes. No more false - _ah -”_ Words failed him in favor of sensation, and Dorian sucked in a breath while Desire arched and clamped down around him.

“ _Yes_ ,” the demon let out in a breath, and Dorian could make out no whisper or undertone in his voice. Only deep, gratifying pleasure mirrored in the way Desire spread his legs wider, offering himself up to him.

It was no wonder mages fell to this in droves. Strings of hurried lovers and even the most talented of courtesans were no match for something that could read one’s every thought and give them _exactly_ what they wanted. Dorian half-wondered if he’d fallen too, after all. If this was him giving in to the deal after all, and he’d be here, trapped while Desire took his body, twisted it, made him a grotesque vessel. But the demon remained, wrapped around and stretched out beneath him, a sensual vision in a world devoid of any other distraction. Even the winking eyes of the Fade’s stars no longer mattered like the demon did, and Dorian found himself trusting Desire’s word.

 _He must have_ , he thought. _Must have finally lost himself_.

Yet he only held on more tightly, peppering wet kisses and gusts of breath against the demon’s jaw, rutting into his pliant body, savoring every breath of noise he fucked out of him, and if there was _anything_ real in the way Desire clung to him and cried out his name, it was still more than he could hope for in the waking world.

The thighs squeezing against his sides were smooth and hot, a perfect match to the mouth working at his ear between gasps for air, and it wasn’t long before Dorian’s focus broke almost entirely, throwing himself towards release with as much determination as the demon under him, curling his hips to bring Dorian in closer, deeper. Desire’s palms burned against his shoulders, fingers scraping up and into his hair, and it was with the demon crying his name out against Dorian’s lips, the clench of muscle around him that bursts of color exploded behind eyelids he couldn’t remember squeezing shut. Dorian bit down a shout, clinging to the demon as he came, and Desire’s kisses went from desperate to tender, humming, digging his heels against Dorian’s hips to keep him close, to keep him buried inside him.

Dorian was wordless as he came down, clutching to the muscles of the demon’s thighs and wondering, not for the first time, at how _real_ it seemed. But this was the Fade, a dream, and in the waking world he had nothing that even compared to _this._

But what all of this _lead to_...

The gentle press of lips was welcomed all to readily, and with a slow sigh of breath, Dorian returned the kiss, smoothing his palms over the length of the demon’s body. It was easier to press the thoughts away, for now, while Desire had sworn that he had nothing to fear. Not tonight. Not while warm fingers slid through his hair, down his arms, full of comforting breaths and contented sighs.

Desire kept promising, in whispers, in the touch lingering on Dorian’s skin, that he would always be safe. Dorian shut his eyes, and with an exhale, hung on more tightly.

It was only a matter of time.

And that, undoubtedly, was the most terrifying part.


End file.
